Chapter 26: Blade of Fall
Dax's blood dripped onto the cracked stone floor of the Wyvern Nest—each crimson drop hitting the ground with a soft, almost reverent sound.
The moment it touched, an unnatural scent spread through the air—subtle yet irresistible, like the call of something ancient and alive.
The distant wyverns reacted instantly.
A chorus of screeches and piercing whistles filled the sky as they bolted toward his location—massive wings tearing through clouds, shadows racing across the cliffs.
The first to arrive was a small wyvern—no larger than a human.
Its scales shimmered with a deep, luminous violet hue—catching the storm-light in shifting iridescence. Its eyes carried the wide, bright curiosity of a child seeing the world for the first time—innocent, fearless, alive.
Dax smiled softly.
The little wyvern approached without hesitation—head lowered, nostrils flaring as it scented his blood. It rubbed its scaled snout against Dax's bloodied hand—gentle, almost affectionate—small wings fluttering with excitement.
"…This is odd," the Ancestor muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. "They're all responding."
He watched the scene calmly—pride unmistakable in his gaze.
Then, from the distance, massive silhouettes appeared—wings tearing through the sky, the air trembling with their approach.
"Oh?" the Ancestor chuckled softly. "So Little Purple is the smallest… interesting."
"Fast though," he added. "Much faster than the others."
The thunderous sound of wings surrounded the ring.
Then it landed.
A massive black wyvern—its body covered in scars that told stories of battles older than empires. The tip of its tail was missing entirely—jagged, as though torn away in some long-ago war. Its wings, when spread, blotted out half the sky.
The moment it touched the ground, its dominance poured out like a tidal wave—raw, primal, absolute.
The other wyverns bowed instinctively—heads lowered, wings folded.
Even Little Purple dipped its head—small body trembling slightly.
"Cain…" the Ancestor whispered, stunned.
"This one has never accepted a companion."
"I heard it settled here fifty years ago," he murmured, "after being injured by a dragon."
Dax stepped forward—unafraid, steady.
He stretched out his hand.
"Come to me, friend."
Hearing Dax's words, the small purple wyvern bit onto his clothing—tugging insistently as if trying to steal his attention.
Instead, Cain leaned his massive head toward Dax—completely ignoring the little purple wyvern.
Under the gaze of the lesser dragons, Dax was no longer perceived as a human, but as a phenomenon.
The moment his blood touched the ground, he no longer felt human to them.
*Dragons are often spoken of in fantasy books,* Dax thought calmly, *but I never expected them to be this interesting.*
He looked into Cain's eyes and saw it clearly—intelligence, curiosity, and a will that rivaled any sentient being.
It was the same for the others—yet there was a deep-rooted fear in them toward Cain, all except the little purple wyvern.
Dax rubbed his hand against Cain's solid, shimmering scales—then walked around him, lifting one of his massive wings as if it weighed nothing.
"Oh," Dax muttered in fascination, "its wings are attached to its arms."
He moved toward the botched tail—then finally met Cain's red eyes.
*Just like mine.*
Dax smiled.
Before he could react, the little purple wyvern vanished in a blur—reappearing instantly on top of Cain's head—leaving Dax completely stunned.
"Oh?" Dax smiled—greed flashing briefly in his eyes.
Then suddenly, his expression changed.
His face grew somber—clearly an act.
"Dax," his grandfather asked calmly, noticing the shift, "what is wrong? Why the sudden change? Don't you like them?"
"Grandfather," Dax replied slowly, "I have a greedy request."
While the House of Fall was in a state of unrest due to the elders' banter—
"It can't be…"
A young man with glasses collapsed to the floor—legs giving out beneath him.
Instantly, the entire clan's gaze turned toward him.
Clamors echoed as he struggled to speak.
"Th—the Lonely Beast of the Night, the Storm Bringer, the Earth Shatterer, even the Lightning Surfer…" his voice trembled, "these are powerful lesser dragons capable of contending with Rank Six and even Rank Seven masters."
"The clan has a Lightning Surfer?" someone shouted in disbelief.
The elders' eyes widened in shock as their gazes locked onto the small purple wyvern.
While many were stunned, the Second Elder noticed something far more disturbing.
*Friendliness.*
She saw it clearly in the wyverns' eyes and felt utterly flabbergasted.
These were creatures known for their pride.
Bearing dragon blood placed them far above ordinary magical beasts.
Creatures that normally looked upon humans with disdain—even contempt—were now acting… affectionate.
*There must be something more to this.*
Long ago, there were legends of a special human constitution—one that dragons could not resist.
A body so compatible with dragons that it accelerated their evolution.
She shook her head gently—dismissing the thought.
*It's impossible…*
"I want both of them," Dax said calmly.
The moment the words left his mouth, the little purple wyvern hopped excitedly on Cain's head.
Cain growled lowly—clearly displeased.
"This child…" the Ancestor muttered softly.
"You know the elders will not accept this easily," he said.
"I'm aware," Dax replied evenly.
"But you are the founding father. Your word stands."
The Ancestor fell silent.
Then he nodded.
*How could I turn down a child who casually handed me a divine weapon?*
*That would be heartless.*
He turned around.
"Now that you've made your choice, let us return."
As the Ancestor waved his hand, Dax spoke once more.
"May I take them with me now?"
"Be patient, my boy," the Ancestor replied calmly.
"You may have them after the banquet. If you wish, they can even be sent directly to your yard."
At the end of his words, the Ancestor, Dax, and Zain vanished—reappearing instantly within the banquet hall.
Silence followed.
Then, a ceramic glass appeared in the Ancestor's hand.
"Kneel, my child," he said with a smile as he looked at Dax.
Seeing the smile on the Ancestor's face, many were taken aback—especially the Seventh Elder.
"Dax is my cousin," the First Elder spoke calmly to Paul, his eyes still closed.
"My father is the brother of the current patriarch."
"Beside me stands the Second Elder, also one of his cousins," he continued.
"Now look at the Ancestor. Have you ever seen him bat an eye at us?"
"The answer is no," he said softly.
"Paul, watch your tongue if you do not wish to die. That man will not hesitate to kill his own blood."
"Right now," he added, "only Dax exists in his eyes."
A chill ran down Paul's spine.
"I… was blind," he whispered.
"I, the founding father," the Ancestor declared—his voice echoing through the hall,
"anoint this child as the Blade of the Fall."
Oil poured forth from the glass—thick, golden, fragrant—falling onto Dax's hair, soaking it as the clan watched in stunned silence.